


le bébé adore les sports

by FlashFlashFlash



Series: plus d’enfants, plus de joie [5]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, almost pregnant sex, first kicks, pregnant!patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14039496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashFlashFlash/pseuds/FlashFlashFlash
Summary: This is gonna be my last fic for a while, as laudanum_cafe convinced me to do the Bandom Big Bang this year, and I think it's going to take quite a bit of work, as I haven't started yet!Have fun, people!Aminta x





	le bébé adore les sports

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be my last fic for a while, as laudanum_cafe convinced me to do the Bandom Big Bang this year, and I think it's going to take quite a bit of work, as I haven't started yet! 
> 
> Have fun, people!
> 
> Aminta x

Pete presses his lips to the taut cream skin below Patrick’s belly button, which is beginning to push out a little. He sighs happily, smiling a little as he feels Patrick’s leg hook into the small of his back. He’s got one bare arm on either side of those famous Chicago thighs, hands pressing down into the mattress. His shirt had been abandoned some time ago, around when Patrick’s glasses hit the bedside table.

Patrick’s got his forearm over his eyes as he giggles, and he’s lying flat on the bed with his legs spread. He’s wearing a pair of maternity knickers, complete with a lace over-the-bump panel that Pete has pulled down, leaving a path of kisses in its wake. The best bit is probably that he’s still wearing his socks, fuzzy and warm and just so Patrick that Pete wants to yell with happiness when he feels the fabric connect with the skin of the his back. He presses another kiss to Patrick’s tummy, and tugs a little more on the lace underwear.

Rather feebly, Patrick tries to protest, but he’s still pulling Pete closer with his leg, and his hand (the one that isn’t covering his face) is cradling the back of Pete’s neck. The kisses keep coming, soft and sweet but powered by lust, by the effects of abstinence during almost the entirety of the first trimester, by the heat of thirty years refusing to die out.

It’s rather extraordinary really. The dimmed lights and the rest of the house being empty, the teenage fumbling and far too much cologne on Pete’s part, the dark heat of the early days when nothing was figured out, and the sensibility of a married couple simply doing their duty to each other. It’s paradoxical, that at this middle stage of their lives, they’re still so desperate for each other’s touch, yearning for it. It’s strange, perhaps, that even though it was against the odds, their passion should bring on another baby, because that fire was supposed to burn out long ago.

The fire was meant to burn out when Patrick started gaining weight in his first pregnancy, when his jeans didn’t fit and all of his jumpers were too tight, or when he began to lose his dignity as the claws of prenatal hormones sunk in, or maybe even in the early days of parenting, when it scared him that Pete knew better what to do than he did. He thought it would fade away slowly and then they’d be stuck in a boring, happy life with no sex and no passion, which would have been fine, but this was so, so much better.

When Pete starts licking stripes from just above the maternity knickers to Patrick’s belly button, the baby starts swirling around, like she’s been doing for a while now, and it’s a bit of a mood killer, but he doesn’t say anything for fear of becoming a distraction from Pete's honourable work. Pete hums quietly with his lips pressed low on the bump, snaking his right hand up Patrick’s thigh, breathing in his scent and-

It’s just a little tap, right in front of Pete’s nose, but it’s a shock, and it’s a little odd to think that just inches away from his face is a tiny foot. Pete pulls back abruptly, his eyes going wide, but Patrick just slowly moves his arm out of his eyes.

"Babe? Did you just feel that!?"

"Feel what?" Patrick responds lazily.

"What do you mean, 'feel what'? That kick! The baby just kicked! Duh!" Pete rolls his eyes, sitting back on his heels, and Patrick moves his leg out of the way so that he can sit up.

"You felt it?" Patrick pulls Pete closer and rests their foreheads together.

"I sure did." Pete grins. "That's the first time I've felt her kick. Have you been feeling it for a while?"

"I get a lot of swirling, just her moving around, and a lot of really light kicks, but that one was harder, definitely." Their lips meet briefly for a kiss. "She must know you're here."

"Mmm," Pete hums in agreement. "I love you, so, so much."

"I love you, too."

There are no more real words for a long time after that.

Pete starts kissing Patrick, and the territory is soft, well-thumbed, like the pages of a loved book, familiar on their tongues, fire in their hearts. It’s a deeply-trodden path, winding it’s way through the muddy valley of their speckled love. They know it well, how to move their tongues in sync, pet at each other’s hair, when to slip a hand under the waistband of beloved Star Wars pyjamas to grab a handful of soft skin, and when to fiddle with a zipper on black denim.

Kissing Patrick is what Pete knows. It’s what he’s good at. He’s written so many songs about it; kissing Patrick makes him good at what he’s paid to do. Kissing Patrick will never get old. It’s twelve bar blues, it’s a crescendo finish, it’s four beats in a bar, it’s playing the piano in the middle of the night. Kissing Patrick is music all over Pete’s body, not just his ears, a symphony, an entire orchestra playing the same note at once. Kissing Patrick is a passion.

Pete grunts into the kiss when Patrick’s hand meets his lower back, using his weight to carefully manoeuvre Patrick into being directly underneath him. He grinds his hips into Patrick’s, eliciting a high pitched moan from his mouth. Pete thinks he hears Patrick curse under his breath, and he smiles to himself, beginning to nudge those thighs apart, and running a hand over the smooth skin of the bump. Then he leans down, the skin of their stomachs touching, and he's just about to get rid of that maternity underwear when he feels another one of those light taps on his stomach.

"Fuck," Patrick says quietly. Pete just grins and catches him in another kiss, hooking a finger into the lace and slowly beginning to edge it away, little by little. He can't help but feel smug, knowing he's got Patrick right where he wants him, after all these years of awkward sex in bus bunks, rushing to get dressed when the kids start crying, sloppy blowjobs before the school run. This is their reward for being quiet, for abandoning romance for the sake of a teddy bear lost in the sheets, for listening to Linda on the playground complain about her divorce and thinking, if only she knew where my mouth was fifteen minutes ago. Their reward is silence, and space in which to be together.

Tap.

It's the baby kicking against Pete's skin. A sigh, Pete can't tell, of either frustration or content on Patrick's part.

Tap.

"Can we stop?" This time, the sigh is definitely one of frustration. "Baby kicking turns me way off."

Pete's already sitting back on his heels when he says, "But, baby, you're so damn sexy when you're pregnant. You look hot when you're showing."

"Pete," Patrick whines. "Give up, will you? It's not gonna happen tonight."

"But, baby, we haven't fucked in weeks." The response comes as a chuckle.

"We had sex just the other day, fuck off," Patrick laughs. "If you had a tiny human wriggling around inside you, you wouldn't wanna have sex with you either right now."

"So, sex is off the table when she's moving?"

"When she's awake, yeah, I'm not fucking you with our baby awake inches away from your dick."

"She sleeps?!" Pete's eyes widen. "She's awake?" Patrick stares at Pete in disbelief. His jaw drops.

"This is your fourth baby, and you're only just finding out that babies sleep in the womb?"

"Seriously, she's asleep in there? I thought it was just a kind of permanent semi-consciousness!"

"No, honey," Patrick chuckles a little, and places a hand on Pete's shoulder. "She's, like, you know, a real human."

"Fuck, baby, I..." Pete brushes his hand over the bump. "That's fucked me right up. I'm genuinely shocked."

"I can't believe you. I might get up and sway for a while, see if she'll drop back off to sleep, and then I'll blow you if you still wanna get off."

"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said." Pete beams. "I think I'll pass, though." "My husband refusing good head? This whole baby being awake thing has really messed with you, hasn't it? It's like I don't know you anymore."

"Mmhmm," Pete hums as he leans in for a short kiss. "Hey," he whispers, their foreheads presses together. "I was thinking about baby names, and I wondered..."

"Yeah?" Patrick's voice is just as quiet. "What about Lyric? I know it's a bit crazy, a bit out there, but I like it, and it's kinda cute, like, she's the best lyric I've ever written, I don't know-"

"I love it, Pete," Patrick says as he hauls himself up from the bed. He pulls up the support panel, leans himself over the mattress on his arms and begins to sway his hips slowly from side to side. "I think it's really cute."

 

 

 

A little while later, they're tucked into bed, in sweats and T-shirts, spooning, with Pete's hand feeling for kicks.

"She's like a little teddy bear."

"Um... thanks?" Patrick laughs breathily. "All babies are like teddy bears," Pete continues. "They just lie there, looking cute, and being soft. And that fuzzy hair, and the eyes, with the onesies with feet that look like paws."

"Sure, okay." Patrick pauses thoughtfully. "Should we be naming her Teddy? Like Theodora?"

"Maybe, maybe..." the response comes quietly, softly. "Like a nickname while she's still a-cookin'."

"Teddy bear, our little girl..."


End file.
